For at least a year I only thought of Grant Lee Buffalo as a curiosity: I knew a handful of tracks from their debut album Fuzzy, but I was yet to be convinced of their greatness. Jupiter and Teardrop was an epic story, if a little overblown, while America Snoring was searing and snarling but just didn’t have enough hook to reel me in. Even Michael Stipe’s well documented admiration for the band hadn’t been enough to take me further.

And then a friend at University nudged me, and kept on nudging, until eventually I gave Fuzzy a proper listen.

And then I knew that Grant Lee Philips was an incredible songwriter with a voice as beautiful as any and a twelve-string sound to make angels weep.